by Kylie Brant
Martin settled his glasses back on his rather pointed nose. “I don’t teach her music. She has a piano instructor for that.”
It took a deep breath to summon patience. Macy was beginning to wonder if Becker wasn’t the unimaginative one. “I mean, how does she like to spend her free time?”
His brow furrowed. “Well, she spends more time with that horse of hers than she should, but other than that, I really couldn’t say. It’s not my area.”
He’d managed to startle her. “Not your area? You talk to her, don’t you? You must spend more time with her daily than even her parents, at least during the week. How can you not know what she likes?”
“Ms. Reid.” Becker smoothed his thinning blond hair. “I have three advanced degrees. I was an adjunct professor for an Ivy League college, on the fast track for tenure, when I accepted Mr. Mulder’s offer for a position here. My duties were clear. To catch young Ellie up on her studies and ready her for whatever university her parents choose for her. I assure you, I take my obligations seriously. But they don’t encompass befriending the child. I’m her teacher, not her counselor. Our conversations focused solely on her academics, as is fitting.”
Macy had wanted to get a better picture of the child, but this man was shedding very little light on that question. She was, however, getting a better understanding of the girl’s days, and thinking of her spending hours at a time cooped up with this humorless, priggish man was discouraging.
Having spent her life shuttling between one embassy post to another meant that Macy had experienced her share of tutors. Becker bore an unfortunate resemblance to one in particular, a Reginald Fox. The only difference that she could see was that her stepfather had gotten rid of the man when he learned how much Macy disliked him.
She wondered if Ellie had ever complained about Becker to her parents.
Sliding the yellow legal pad across the table, she simply said, “I need a sample of your written communication. Why don’t you write me one hundred words on developing imaginative abstract reasoning skills in eleven-year-old students.”
“You do a lot of gaming, David?”
The sullen fifteen-year-old barely looked up at Kell’s question. He seemed more concerned with the computer that an agent was currently boxing up in the adjoining room. “Some.”
“What system do you prefer? The Wii? PlayStation?”
“I’ve got a Wii. Mom won’t get me a PlayStation.” It was clear from his tone that the boy found her refusal to be totally unreasonable.
“I’m a pretty good Wii boxer.” Kell settled his shoulders more comfortably against the wall and crossed one booted foot over the other. “What about you, Agent Pelton? You look like a Mario Brothers man to me.”
Pelton looked mystified. “What?”
But he’d managed to capture the kid’s attention. David’s lip curled. “Mario Brothers is stupid. I like Killer Instinct. Mortal Kombat II. No More Heroes.”
Kell hid his reaction. The kid liked his gore. “Takes a lot of practice to be good at those games. You spend a lot of time on it?”
The kid shrugged, already losing interest. “When are we going to get our computer back?”
“I don’t know. A few weeks, probably.”
“How much time do you spend online, David?” Pelton steered the conversation back to the interview.
Lifting a shoulder again, the teenager said, “I don’t know. Some.”
“Every day?”
“Sure. Facebook and e-mail . . .” He frowned, throwing Kell an anxious look. “Hey, you guys can’t hack into my Facebook account, can you? That’d be like an invasion of privacy, right?”
“We served a warrant,” Pelton said impatiently. “You have no reasonable expectation of privacy.”
Seeing the kid’s panicked expression, Kell said mildly, “But we’re looking for certain information. Anything else we find doesn’t interest us.” When the kid’s anxiety didn’t lessen appreciably, he added, “No reason for us to share any of that information with your mom, unless it’s illegal.”
Tension eased from the boy’s shoulders. “Yeah? It’s not illegal. But she would freak. I’ve got e-mail messages saved from my dad.”
“And she doesn’t want you communicating with him?”
He shook his head, then hunched his shoulders. “They hate each other, y’know? But I hardly get to see him. He lives in Oregon.”
Agent Pelton leaned forward in his chair, his hands clasped between his open knees. “What’s his name?”
“Walter Elliott.”
“And he hasn’t been by to see you recently?” Pelton tried for a friendly smile that came off looking, in Kell’s estimation, pretty damn creepy. “Maybe slipped into town and met you on the sly? Without your mom knowing?”
“I wish,” David muttered. “He doesn’t have any money. Lost his job last year. He had to move back in with my grand-parents.”
Kell could see where Pelton was going with the questioning, but he was angling a bit far off base. Even if the man were destitute, even given the snowball’s chance in hell that he could be involved in this, why would the guy take the chance of implicating his son by sending a ransom note bearing their IP address?
“What time do you get up in the morning, David?” Pelton looked annoyed at his interruption.
“Not until I have to. School starts at eight thirty. Usually seven or so.”
“I remember high school. Can’t say homework was high on my priority list. Used to have to pull a few all-nighters to get papers done sometimes.” He uttered the lie without a flicker of conscience. It had been more his style to pay someone to write the papers for him, but he doubted that was something to be shared with a fifteen-year-old who looked to lack his own work ethic. “You ever do that? Have to stay up late to get something done for school?”
The kid looked at him like he was crazy. “No, I’d rather take the F. But sometimes if I can’t sleep, I might use the computer or play Wii all night. I did that a few days ago. Got my highest score on Mortal Kombat ever. Wanna see?”
Kell exchanged a look with Pelton. “Okay if we continue this in the boy’s room?” In answer, the agent got up and they followed the kid out of the dining room and up the stairs.
It was, Kell figured, a normal enough teenage boy’s room. There were clothes strewn on the floor and on the foot of the unmade bed. Glasses and empty plates littered the desktop next to the TV and gaming system on the desk. He was constantly surprised by the gadgets and high-tech equipment kids scored these days. He’d been lucky to have a couch to sleep on when he was young. And when he was David Elliott’s age, he’d had to pick the lock on his mother’s door to get inside the house at all. Carrie Burke was about as nurturing as a rabid wolverine.
With the most animation he’d shown all day, David crossed to the system and flipped it on. “I’ve got a buddy who’s always bragging that he beat the game, but I did it with a higher score than he got. Look at this.” Pelton peered over the kid’s shoulder, but Kell’s attention was diverted to the window. The bedroom was in the front of the house, directly above the room where the computer was kept downstairs. Blinds covered the window that faced the street, but they were askew, as if the cord had gotten yanked hard and jammed. The result left the blinds halfway up, hanging at a diagonal. “Bet your buddy was impressed.”
“Are you kidding? He’s pissed. Won’t hardly talk to me. The dick.”
Kell peered at the time stamp on the screen. Yesterday at three thirty A.M. Adrenaline kick-started inside him. He jerked a thumb to the window. “You see any activity on the street out front when you were playing?”
The kid shook his head furiously. “I was busy concentrating on the game, you know. People don’t realize you have to have intense concentration. Good reflexes. Take your eyes off the action for a minute, and you miss your chance of reaching the next level.”
Pelton had picked up Kell’s train of thought as smoothly as if they’d been working together for years.
“But you’d notice if a car went by that time of night. Quiet street like this, you must not get a lot of traffic. Headlights would shine right in your window.”
The boy was silent for a long time. Then, “Maybe there was a car out there. Parked across the street in front of Gorley’s. But it took off while I was playing.”
Kell and the agent exchanged a look. “Can you describe the vehicle?”
The boy started playing a game that resulted in a lot of machine gun fire and obscenities from the characters on the screen. “I’m not that good with cars. But I know it was silver.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Macy stopped in the doorway, nonplussed. “I thought I’d find Stephen in here.”
The room was the office Mulder had transformed for his use when his had been commandeered by Whitman. But neither of the men inside the room were Stephen Mulder.
“Ms. Reid, isn’t it?” She recognized Mark Alden, Mulder’s lawyer from the first day they’d arrived. “He’s supposed to meet us in a few minutes. You’re free to hang out in here with us and wait.”
“In fact, I think I’ll have to insist on it.” The second man rose from his chair lazily, aimed a smile in her direction. “I’m Lance Spencer. I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure.”
Ah. The accountant. Macy gave them both a quick smile. “I think I will wait, if you don’t mind. I just need a minute of Stephen’s time.”
And she wasn’t averse to learning a bit more about two of the people who had been in the house hours before Ellie had been kidnapped.
Lance Spencer had Greek god looks and a slick charm that was the polar opposite of any accountant she’d ever met. He appeared similarly taken aback with her. “So.” His bright blue eyes sparkled wickedly at her. “If you don’t mind me saying, you don’t look much like a cop.”
“She’s not a cop, Spence.” Alden got up and went to a container in the center of the table filled with beverages on ice. “Can I get you something to drink, Ms. Reid?”
“Macy, please. And I’ll take a water.” He fished one out from the container, and she walked over to take it from his outstretched hand. “Thank you.”
“Well, if you’re not a cop, Macy Reid, what are you?”
She twisted off the cap of the water, returned Spencer’s bland stare. “I’m a consultant with Raiker Forensics.”
The accountant shook his head. “Nope. You don’t look like a consultant either.” He turned away then to address Alden. “I’ll take one of those waters, Mark.” He reached up a hand and caught the bottle the other man tossed to him, his attention back on her. “If I’d had to guess, I’d peg you as an elementary school teacher.” He opened the bottle and took a long swallow. “You have kind eyes and a faintly exasperated air.”
“And I’d peg you as a used car salesman.” She smiled blandly as both men laughed.
“Maybe that’s why I can’t get a woman,” Spencer joked.
“No, I think that’s because you’re not looking for a woman, you’re looking for every woman,” Alden put in dryly.
“True.” The man’s eyes were amused and invited Macy to share the joke. “But we can’t all meet our true loves in college like Stephen and Mark did.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Mark used to pay Dianna to write his papers for him. That’s how they met. She never minded that the man has an indecipherable scrawl that would put a doctor’s to shame.”
If his friend was embarrassing him, there was no sign of it. “Well, I redeemed myself by moving her out here two years ago.” To Macy, he said, “My wife is a ski bunny. On the slopes more than she’s at home.”
Lance slowly twisted the top of the cap on his bottle. “I hope you’ve got good news to share with Stephen. They’re due for some after the last few days.”
“The investigation is progressing.” And more than that she wouldn’t say to anyone outside the case. “Both of you were here that night.”
The men nodded in unison. Alden sat down in one of the chairs at the conference table. “We were working on a new project for the philanthropic side of Mulder Stores.”
Lance took up the telling. “A mentoring program for troubled teens.” His smile was wry. “Mark’s making sure I join him as a mentor. Not really my thing, but I’ll give it a shot.”
“Do you good,” Alden told him. “Keep you out of the strip clubs.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” the man shot back.
“Did any of you ride together that night?” she asked before tipping the bottle to her lips.
Spencer looked at the lawyer. “You and Tessa came together, didn’t you? Because of the weather?”
Alden nodded. “Yeah, she didn’t want to drive because it was supposed to turn bad.” He looked at her then, his pleasant face serious. “We’d like to help here, Ms. Reid. Stephen is our closest friend. If there’s any way we can assist the investigation, please let us know.”
“Reid.”
Turning, she recognized the chief of Mulder’s security, Ben Cramer, standing in the doorway. His glower was all too familiar. “You’re supposed to run any company you’re expecting through Mr. Mulder, who would let me know.”
Rising, she headed toward him. “That’s why I came to find him.”
“Well, it’s too late now. We’ve got an RV and a car outside the front gate. They say they’re with you.”
Adrenaline spiked. The mobile lab that Raiker had promised had arrived. She could only hope that the CBI was as quick about sending the lab specimens to be tested. “Do you need me to come down and identify them?”
“Well, I’m sure as hell not letting them in if you don’t.”
Charming as ever. Rising, she told the two men, “I guess I don’t need to see Stephen after all.”
“Nice meeting you,” Spencer called after her.
She smiled sweetly at Cramer as she brushed by him. “And you can join me in the next room in thirty minutes. I have a few questions for you.”
“Zach.” Momentarily nonplussed to see the driver of the lab, Macy’s steps faltered. “Since when have you been filling in as a driver?”
“Since the satellite lab crew got hit by a flu bug. Both drivers are down, and Cait was looking a bit green herself. The only way I could convince her to go to bed was to promise to deliver it myself.” His expression went dour. “I don’t plan to make a regular thing of it.”
Laughing, she teased, “Sounds like true love to me.” Zach Sharper had met Raiker investigator Caitlin Fleming on a case in Oregon last summer, and it had been sparks at first sight.
A rare grin split his expression. “Don’t kid yourself. I’m in it for the cookies. She’s going to owe me big time for this one.” He jerked his head toward the compact car idling behind him. “I set up a meet with your lab scientist outside Denver. Tell me where to park this beast, and I’ll return his car to the airport. I’ve got a flight back to Eugene tonight.”
Macy turned to check the progress of Cramer and the security guard manning the gate. They were still checking the undercarriage of the vehicle. “They’ll do a thorough check inside, too. Maybe you should switch vehicles now. This could take a while.”
Needing no further encouragement, Zach leaned over to grab a parka on the seat beside him and opened the driver’s door to jump lightly to the ground. “Thanks. I don’t want to miss my flight. I’ve never seen Cait under the weather before.” There was an anxious light in his whiskey-colored eyes.
“And you’re worried?”
He shoved a hand through his shaggy sun-streaked brown hair. “Someone has to make sure the woman stays in bed. She seems to think the office will fall apart without her there to keep the thing running.”
Smiling, she said nothing further. She’d only met him once, at Ramsey and Dev’s wedding last month. But if ever there was a man in the process of falling hard and fast, it was Zach Sharper. “Give her my best and tell her I said to make you wait on her hand and foot.”
He grunted as they strode back through the gate
toward the car. “Like she’d allow it. Don’t let her cover model looks fool you. She’s got a mean streak when she’s not feeling well.” He stopped in his tracks as the man in the car got out.
Alfred Jones, more commonly known as Jonesy in the Raiker labs, was as brilliant as he was unconventional, and Macy couldn’t help but wonder what Assistant Director Whitman would make of him. His stiff black Mohawk made a hat impossible, and she shivered just thinking about how the cold felt on the shaved sides of his head. Not to mention the multiple piercings that dotted his face and ears. As usual he was clad in complete black, with a hooded sweatshirt that proclaimed LAB RAT in bold white letters, baggy black pants, and . . . her eyes dropped to his feet. Thongs.
“Uh, Jonesy, you’ve seen snow before, right?”
“Hey, Macy.” He swept by her like a man on a mission.
“What the hell are they doing? They absolutely are not allowed inside the lab. Hey. Hey!”
She and Zach turned to look at him running to accost Cramer and the other guard, who were yanking at the door of the secured lab. Macy gave a little sigh. Just the thought of the upcoming battle depleted her strength for a moment.
“Buck up.” Zach patted her on the shoulder. “If it comes down to a fight, I’d put money on the little weird guy. He looks unpredictable.”
“Yeah.” She gave a sigh and started toward the men. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“Tell the truth.” Cramer folded his arms over his impressive chest and scowled at her. “You guys still don’t have dick.”
Their earlier altercation hadn’t improved the man’s mood, Macy noted. He especially hadn’t liked the fact that she’d had to call Stephen Mulder to resolve the argument. The man’s agreement to allow the lab on the property without an interior search had clearly infuriated his chief security officer. Even though he’d been allowed access to it once Jonesy had it parked inside the employee garage and had handed the guards sterile gowns and shoe covers to put on before entering.
“We have several leads we’re pursuing.”
